What Matters Most
by Jagsrule5
Summary: Tradition was important to Will; he couldn't understand why Chelsea didn't see that. To the farmer, however, some customs are better off discontinued- this being one of them. But there's always a compromise to these types of predicaments... right?


**Author's Notes: **Why, hello there! ^^ So this is just a little oneshot I came up with after hearing about Will's full name for the first time.. Hope you enjoy it, because I had a blast writing it! Oh, and I'd like to give a biiiig thank you to lollipopdiego for beta reading and being such an awesome person in general! XD So, uh, thanks for reading and enjoy!

But beware! FLUFF AHEAD! (kinda) :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Harvest Moon.. But if someone wants to trade a billion dollar franchise for all the money in my purse (which is about... five dollars? O.O) I'd gladly reconsider! :D

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><p>The house was quiet, the commotion of the evening finally ended, and everything he cared for most lay fast asleep in his arms.<p>

Will couldn't help but smile as he gazed down at the charming newborn baby boy in his arms, idling playing with the soft fluff of hair adorning its round little head. He was perfect, at least in Will's eyes.

"You'll make a good man, my sweet little prince," he crooned, his chest swelling with pride.

This was it; all of the four weeks of excruciating preparation had finally paid off. Throughout the month, Will had taken it upon himself to buy his beloved Chelsea a boatload of new pregnancy books. Literally, he had filled his yacht to the brim with the helpful guides.

Though she wasn't exactly 'ecstatic' (he believed her exact words were, "_You won't buy me a new barn, but you'll be willing to spend this much on books?_") Will decided that, in the end, he had made the right decision.

They didn't exactly help _her; _she refused to even touch the books, claiming she possessed some sort of 'maternal instinct'. But Will did think that they were a good read… And what _else _would he do in his free time…? Work? Preposterous.

There was a groan from the bed beside him and the blonde looked over, smiling down at the disheveled mass of auburn popping out from underneath the blanket, her trademark bandana left casually on the bed frame. Will was proud of his wife, going through immeasurable pain, simply for the love of another. It was poetic, even. And Will knew a thing or two about being poetic.

But he was also rather proud of himself, for going through that horribly disgusting show without a falter in his etiquette as a man. He did not have to leave the room, as other, weaker men would have done… Oh, no. He loved his wife, no matter what state of appearance she happened to be in.

And now, he had something equally as precious to love. It was like a piece of him had broken off of himself, creating another being that was essentially a part of him, and that he loved more than he thought he ever could. It was like—

"Will…?"

The wealthy new father snapped out of his deep inner monologue, turning his attention to the source of the voice.

Chelsea gave a tired smile to her husband, her eyebrows creased in a way that made it look as though she were annoyed. She wordlessly reached her arms out to the man, and he obliged, handing the nameless child over to the girl without a fuss.

"I'm so sorry, dearest. Did I wake you…?"

"No, no." she insisted, "I was awake for a while. But then I saw that look in your eyes…the kind you get when you're creating some kind of poetic crap in your head."

Will shrugged, "You know me so well."

The farmer nodded distractedly, still gazing down at the little bundle of joy in her arms. Her _son. _It was so strange saying that… Chelsea had never really thought that she was the 'marrying type.' Especially not to a guy like _Will._

But she supposed some things were open to change…

"He's so beautiful, don't you think?" she murmured. Will nodded, putting a hand to her shoulder as he also gazed down. Both were instantly captivated by this little tot, wanting nothing more to hold him in their arms forever.

And he didn't even have a name…

"Oh, Will!" Chelsea snapped, her eyes opening wide in realization. She perked up, twisting her torso and straining her neck to look at the adjacent blonde, "We still haven't talked about names!"

"Hm… I guess you're right!" He confirmed, "I suppose I never put much thought into it… Although, I had just assumed that he would carry on the Regison family name…"

Chelsea's stare darkened, already catching the gist of what her debatably beloved husband was saying. "And by that…you don't mean…"

"Why, of course! William Terry Louis Andrew Carrick Jonathan Dredge Hams Reading Roger Southwark Alwick Plymouth Junior Regison _IV_!" He exclaimed, keeping his voice lower than usual so as not to wake the sleeping infant.

A brief look of horror crossed Chelsea's face. Putting a hand to her temple in exasperation, she replied, "…No, absolutely not."

"B-but," Will stammered, "It's my family's tradition! My father, and his father, and his father's fa-"

"I get it!" She snapped, and then took an anxious glance at the baby, worried that he had been stirred by the commotion. The exhausted young mother lowered her voice. "I get it… But did you ever think that my family tradition was important, too? I mean, no offense but… that name is ridiculous."

Will's eyes widened, his mouth forming a perfect circle. He let out a melodramatic gasp, not sparing any of his usual theatrics. "A-are you saying that…that my name is _ridiculous?_"

Chelsea scoffed, already relatively used to her husband's over-the-top behavior. "Oh, come on, Will! _Reading? _That's not a name! It's a verb!"

Will huffed, turning his head from the disbelieving maiden and mumbling to himself, "_Gerund…_"

"Excuse me?" Chelsea demanded.

"Gerund! It's a _gerund, _Chelsea!"

"Oh, _so _sorry! I'm a farmer, not an English professor!"

The boy only crossed his arms, frustrated by this meaningless banter. "This is insane… What are we even doing? We've gotten completely off topic!"

"Well, there's no debate needed. I'm sure as hell not naming my son such an unreasonably long name."

"Hmph. You're the one that's being unreasonable! What would you rather call him? _Mark?_"

Chelsea stopped for a moment in utter disbelief, her face reddening slightly. She knew that Will was still a bit sore; after all, she _had_ dated Mark for a few weeks before she had begun courting the millionaire. Still, she believed that dragging the man into their arguments was a bit uncalled for. Rolling her eyes, she shot back, "You're still on that? Get over it, already!"

"How can I, when-"

It was then that the nameless child started an obscenely loud wailing, both parents immediately stopping their argument to stare down at the little one. Chelsea glared up at her husband as she attempted to return the child to sleep. "Look what you've done! Now little Miles is crying!"

Will blinked. "_Miles? _What the- _WHY?_"

The farmer simply shrugged. "It was my father's name, of course. Why should you be the only one to carry on a special name?" she replied, as if it made all the sense in the world. Chelsea refused to look Will in the eye, and looked as though she had a lump in her throat as she continued to sooth the troubled infant.

They were silent for a moment. The gentleman's flustered eyes softened as he watched the mother and her child. After a short while, Will looked up from his gaze, fixating his stare to outside the window, where it had begun a gentle snow…

"…You know," he murmured, "_New Mothers Weekly _says that fighting around the baby can cause problems down the road…"

Chelsea only looked up to give her husband a halfhearted glare, tiny liquid pools already starting to form underneath each lid. She sniffled and gave a small shiver, furiously wiping at a stray tear that had made its way down the rancher's face. "Y-you and your girly pregnancy books."

Her husband frowned for a moment, bending down to tug the blanket a bit farther up his beloved's waist. He sat up, adjusting his collar. "This 'marriage' thing is turning out to be a greater challenge than I had anticipated…"

Chelsea could only nod in agreement, clutching the baby with one arm and the duvet with the other. She straightened her posture, fixating the child's swaddled body as to give it some protection from the drafty night air. "Look, Will," the brunette muttered, "Honestly, I don't even care about the name. Our son is our son, no matter what we call him, right?

She continued, not bothering to look up at her husband's hovering form. "And as long as our son is happy, I'm happy. At least we can just call him Will, right…? Or even Jr., really! Now that I think about it, that would be kind of cute, I guess… And if it means that much to you, then I suppose I can compromise with-"

A finger stopped her ranting, placed gently on the top of her pale, tired lips. "You talk too much," sighed Will, "I don't really care about names, to be honest… Not if it means upsetting my wife in the process."

He knelt down beside the infant, stroking its fuzzy little head with the back of his hand. "Miles is a good name… A name fit for our son."

"Hey!" blurted Chelsea, making her spouse flinch away from the child, "I _said _it was alright, so let's just name him William Louis Andrew… Reading…uh…" she trailed for a moment before giving a frustrated groan, exasperated by her attempt to say her husband's absurdly long name. "Oh, whatever. Let's just name him after you, okay?"

"But dearest," he pleaded lightly, attempting to quiet the tone before the baby was stirred once more, "_I _told _you_ that Miles was a good name, so why don't we just stick with that, hm?"

The rancher's eyes narrowed, "I see what you're trying to do. Making _me _the bad guy, huh? HUH?" She cocked an eyebrow, obviously annoyed.

"Make you the…?"

"Well, not today!" she declared, raising a finger to the baffled young man, "We're naming him after you, and that's final."

"What? I would never-! I mean, I— This is crazy! You're making no sense!"

"Well, you're the one being stubborn!"

"M-me? You started it!"

"I did _not!_"

"Yes you did!"

"Urgh, just forget it then!" Chelsea moaned, "Oh goddess, we're fighting again, aren't we?" She sighed, exasperation taking over. She'd had a long day, and these constant arguments were not helping her growing stress. This, combined with lack of sleep, made for a mood fouler than Lanna on a bad hair day.

Will simply shook his head, still pondering a solution to the naming situation. "I guess we are…but… Hey!" he exclaimed after a moment, looking quite proud of his latest idea, "I think I may have a compromise!"

"Oh boy," The farmer's eyes rolled back, and Will's expression immediately deflated, "Every time you say something like that, I end up getting the raw end of the deal."

"Chelsea… What did we just-?"

"Right, right, no fighting… Sorry." She gave her hubby a toothy smile, one that he had always adored, "Please continue, then."

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><p>"Momma, c'mon!" the bandana clad boy chirped, racing off a few feet ahead where his father was waiting with open arms. Will scooped up the small child, throwing him onto his pristine shoulders, while the youngster could only giggle, clapping his mittens together in delight.<p>

Chelsea shot a grateful look to her husband between pants, tiny puffs of smoke releasing from her mouth with each gasp. Bending down to rest her elbows on her knees, she gave a violent shiver, pondering how it could be possible to be sweating while freezing cold at the same time. After chasing after the tiny tot all afternoon, she relished any opportunity for a break in activity. And now that the sun had almost set, the farmer determined that she had been running around for a good few hours.

But she supposed that the little one was a lot like her at that age. Rambunctious, full of life, always getting into things he shouldn't… It was entertaining but, at the end of the day, the brunette sometimes wished that her child would be willing to sit by the television for a few hours, especially on cold winter days such as these…

She could always dream, couldn't she?

"I think it's about time for bed," Will announced, checking his watch with a frown, and Chelsea seconded the motion with a hurried nod.

The child? Not so much.

"B-bu Daaaaddy! Imma no tired, see?" he looked down at his relatively amused father, opening his eyes wide.

Will examined the boy with mock interest. "Hmm, mhm. I see… Oh, my." He looked away, nodding with a finger to his chin, his face deadly serious, "Yes, I think I see now. This is a serious case of Won'tgotobeditis! The only cure being to go to sleep _this instant!_"

The toddler gasped, his expression turned horrified. He squirmed in his father's shoulders, finally breaking loose of the bind and bobbling into the humble farmhouse without another word.

"You're a genius," concluded Chelsea as she watched after the child, simply stunned at how simple it had been. Usually, she would have to hold the little menace down, kicking and screaming, until he would finally agree to change into his footy pajamas. And actually getting him _into _the bed was an ordeal in itself.

"I'm surprised you didn't know that by now. After all, Reading _is_ my middle name."

The mother snorted, opening the door to the cabin and slinking inside.

"Oh, quit being such a _Ham_," she murmured, following her husband over to their offspring's miniature bed. Their child was waiting under the covers, eyes gradually drooping as he attempted to stay awake for a bit longer, if not only to say goodnight to the pair.

Will smiled down at the cherub, reaching to give one, small pat on the head. "Goodnight, tiny prince. And sweet dreams as well, my little Miles William Terry Louis Andrew Carrick Jonathan Dredge Hams Reading Roger Southwark Alwick Plymouth Junior Regison."

Chelsea laughed at this, pressing her head against her husband's chest as they gazed upon the sleeping boy. "The _first,_" she finished.

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><p><strong>Daawh, family fluff. Thanks for reading, feel free to critique! :D<strong>


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